


you're touching my skin (and it's leavin' me hopeless)

by plinys



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 08:56:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11399289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: Being casual enemies with benefits turns into pretending to date in order to not disappoint their families which may turn into hooking up in a club bathroom, but Rosaline can't find it in herself to mind.





	you're touching my skin (and it's leavin' me hopeless)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheSushiMonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSushiMonster/gifts).



> One day I will write more than just modern au smut for this fandom. One day. Today is not that day. 
> 
> Prompted by Shruti + dedicated to Gabbi for reasons that will make sense as you read. (If you're her...)

“We’re in public,” she hisses, the second she feels his hands on her waist.

Pointedly.

As though that might have stopped him.

It doesn’t.

She’s not sure why she expected it to, especially now that they were officially dating. 

Sort of. It was complicated. 

Because being casual enemies with benefits had somehow turned into all of their friends assuming they were dating and telling Livia - who had looked so hopeful that she had finally found someone, even if he was a Montague - that they were just fuck buddies was something Rosaline hadn’t been able to do. Let alone Juliet, who upon hearing the ‘news’, had flung her arms around Rosaline and insisted that double dates were in their future.

Double dates.

The thing that usually followed after first dates.

The sort of thing that they might not have actually had yet. 

Though it had been easy enough to forget that out in public, when their two groups now unified by not only the Romeo and Juliet relationship but by  _ theirs _ as well, had agreed upon going out to a club together to have a good time.

The club that had then started playing her song, and dancing became a thing that needed to happen.

She just hadn’t accounted for him.

Benvolio, behind her, his hands on her waist. His lips brushing against her neck. Moving in tandem to the beat of the music. 

“Everyone already thinks we’re dating,” Benvolio says, “Humor me?”

She glances away from the dance floor, to where some of their friends still linger by the bar, to the way Juliet shoots her a wild grin and a not so discreet thumbs up.

Since when did this become her life?

“Alternate option,” she says, because when she moves her hips back against him. Natural, and easy, and there’s so much more she wants to do than just that. She can feel him against her, feel that he wants her. 

“Alternate option,” he echoes, voice only slightly strained. 

“The bathrooms are single stall,” she replies, “Wouldn’t a real couple sneak off there together at some point?”

He hesitates.

Something she hadn’t expected.

And when she turns to look at him. There’s a dark look that says he wants her but also something else,  it almost looks like guilt or longing but she can’t be sure, not with the way the club lights seem to reflect off his face. 

Turning him blue, then green, then red, then just for a second himself and - 

She kisses him.

Because she can. 

Because they’re pretending to be a real couple now that that’s what real couples do. They kiss each other in public and act like it’s normal, like it’s not just the sort of thing they do as foreplay or in the heat of the moment. Like it actually means something.

He kisses her back. Like he always does, tasting a bit like those fruity drinks he seems fond of. With a passion and fire that is familiar. His hands steady on her hips but tightening just slightly as the kiss turns even more heated. 

Her hips move against his on impulse forgetting for a second that they’re in the middle of the dancefloor.

Just for a moment though.

She pulls back when she remembers, meeting his eyes, and not bothering to beat around the bush. 

She parrots his words back to him, “Humor me?” 

“I don’t have a condom.”

She had not expected that.

Though now she thinks she unders the look he had been making before. That must have been it.

“Really? You, Benvolio  _ Sex Machine  _ Montague, doesn’t have a condom.”

“I can’t believe you’re still quoting me on that.”

“It’s worth remembering. It was very witty,” she teases, because the memory of that morning was something she wasn’t going to be forgetting for a long time. Even if it only came up to tease him. “Though I was also hoping tonight would be worth remembering, but tragically, that is apparently off the table.” 

“I could ask Romeo for one, or Merc- though he probably doesn’t… I can find one,” his voice lits up at the end, like a question. A hopeful one. 

She shrugs.

Faux indifference. 

Before slipping out of his grasp.

“Well, I’m off to freshed up, though if someone were to eventually join me, I could be so inclined?”

She doesn’t linger around to see what he will say, what he will do, instead she slips through the crowd ignoring the music beating around her. The impulse to rejoin the crowd or even to just rejoin their friends at the bar, overwhelmed instead by something else. 

Another need.

One that seems to wash over her body every time she’s within ten feet of Benvolio.

Which was, of course, what had caused this whole problem in the first place.

She slips into the bathroom, locking the door behind her, and turning to look at herself in the mirror. 

She still looks put together. The picture perfect appearance of exactly who she is supposed to be. The responsible one. Definitely not the person that would start fake dating her fuck buddy in order to not let her sister and cousin down. No, most certainly the person, who was being responsible and who kept a secret relationship because she didn’t want to make things uncomfortable for their mutual friends.

There’s a small part of her that feels guilt about all of this.

Just a little.

Just for a moment.

But it slips away the second she hears a knock at the door and a familiar voice say - “Ros?”

She unlocks the door quickly, tugging him inside with her, and kissing him before she has a chance to second guess this. 

When they pull apart for air she asks, “Did you-”

“Yes,” he cuts her off, already knowing the answer, and holding up a familiar square packet in his hands. 

“Why is it red?”

“Red and scented,” Benvolio says, “Apparently. Look, I don’t want to know about my cousin’s sex life, and his weird strawberry scented condom kink, I just took what he offered and-”

“Yeah, I don’t want to know,” Rosaline agrees, “I do want you though.”

His groan is predictable.

She knows by now exactly what to say to get him kissing her again. 

His hands already on the back of her dress, unzipping it so that when he pulls back in slips down her shoulders to hit the floor. Her bra his next, his hands only fumbling with the clutch for a moment before it’s off and his hands are on her, two fingers pinch one of her nipples, and this time it is her turn to moan into his mouth. 

She wishes they were in his apartment.

With the bed where they could take their sweet time.

Where they could do something that’s almost  _ making love _ , but not quite, because they’re not in love. They’re just casual. Just two people that like to take each other apart slowly, and sometimes forget to put each other back together again. 

Where it doesn’t mean anything.

Where it doesn’t have to. 

When he presses into her she kisses him, telling herself that it’s to keep her noises quieter, as though someone out in the club with the music so loud that it shakes the door he has her pressed up against, could possibly hear them. 

It’s a poor excuse.

But she’ll take anyone she can.

As long as it keeps him here. 

The air smells faintly of strawberries rather than of sex, and the thought of it bubbles up like a laugh within her. 

“Ros-”

“Strawberries,” she says, all the coherence she can manage.

His voice is equally light when he echoes, “Strawberries.” 

They kiss, and move together in tandem. 

Establishing a rhythm that almost seems to synchronize with the music from the club. 

That is until one particular thrust of his has her shaking against him, right as he bites down just ever so slightly on her shoulder.

And it’s nearly too much.

“God, Ben-”

“I know,” he replies. “I know.”

She wonders, if there’s ever been a man that has made her feel this way? 

If there will ever be another after Benvolio? 

She can’t imagine it. 

Can’t imagine anyone else learning her body in the way that he does, knowing exactly where to touch, exactly how to move, to make her come undone against him. 

He prioritizes her pleasure of his own. Reaching a hand down between them to rub against her. To make her peak suddenly closer than it had been moments before.

The sort of thing that hits her so suddenly that one moment she is there, kissing him, focusing on the sparks of feeling that comes from each thrust, and the next she is lost to it. Moaning against his lips, as her whole body burns for him. 

He comes shortly after her. As she’s coming down from it. She feels his hips jerk against in that familiar ending rhythm that she knows too well.

He doesn’t kiss her though, instead he presses his mouth there to the juncture between her neck and shoulder, hiding his face from her view.

She tries not to be disappointed by that.

Focuses instead on the aftershocks of pleasure coursing through her body. Until it calms down, until they’re both breathing steadily again. He pulls out and away from her once he’s finished. Pulling off and disposing of the condom, before working on putting himself back together again.

She does the same. Thankful when she looks in the mirror that she had let him pull her dress off so that it remained mostly unrumpled, and that she had let Livia braid her hair the day before. All in all, she looks still entirely put together. Maybe a little sweat damp on her brow, lips a bit swollen from kissing, and the faint scent of strawberries still lingering in the air. 

Benvolio, on the other hand, does not have the blessing of a forgiving complexion. His face is flushed, his shirt sticking to his body, and when he beams at her when their eyes meet in the mirror, something still feels a little off about all of it.  

“Look at us almost a normal couple.” 

“Yes,” she agrees, because what else is there to say, “Almost.” 

 

 


End file.
